


See how thirsty I am for you —;

by sepulchre



Series: Lewd Fantasy [2]
Category: Food Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, My name is Hornymandias King of Lewds; Look on my Works ye Mighty and bust a fat NUT!, ONE VERY GOOD BOY RECEIVES THE MUCH DESERVED SUCC, Oral Sex, POV Second Person, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, i'm........nastey, once again big thanks to the fff discord, reader is master attendant, sexual healing in The Most literal and sensual way, this is....very self indulgent since i'm really sick rn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-30 23:00:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15761481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sepulchre/pseuds/sepulchre
Summary: I can’t hold back, not in the slightest; you make me thirsty.-------------When you're sick, hot soup is a sure-fire way to make you feel better.





	See how thirsty I am for you —;

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Thirsty by Taemin, which is an absolute banger of a track, and saved me from having to be cliche and use a Marvin Gaye lyric LOL  
> Big thanks to the FFF discord once again!

 

It had taken far less coaxing than Miso was strictly proud of to get him to agree to this. In fact, it had taken exactly no coaxing; you merely had to ask, and that alone had him weak — he was putty in your hands.

 

You'd been sick for a few days at this point, mostly spending them bundled up in a large cozy blanket on the couch, a bucket on the ground beside you in case the nausea overwhelmed you, steadily going through box after box of tissues and pack after pack of throat lozenges as you tried to fight off the illness so you could return to work. You were sure that Pudding was doing an excellent job taking care of things in your stead — Miso had assured you of as much — but you didn't like being cooped up upstairs when you could be working in the restaurant. So, every time you started to sweat or shiver, you hoped that this was it — that the fever was finally breaking! — but that was never the case. 

Usually, when he wasn't checking on the restaurant at your behest, Miso would join you on the couch to take care of you, burrowing under your blankets to hold you close and lavish you with kisses despite your protests of “You'll get sick!” (“Food souls can't get sick, darling~”) or “Stop~! I look gross right now!” (“You  _ always _ look adorable…”). You were almost certain he had no clue how to deal with a sickly Master Attendant, but he was trying his damn best…even if asking him to apply Vaporub to your chest almost killed him. You especially liked it when he would lay his head on your chest while you played with his hair, something you found incredibly soothing and soporific after coughing fits had been keeping you awake for days. Each time you would complain about how long it was taking you to get better, he would hum apologetically, showering you with playful affection — not to mention the, frankly,  _ divine _ shoulder massage he has given you after you complained about your neck and shoulders being sore from being hunched up all the time (on the couch, while coughing or sneezing, while throwing up…this virus was playing hell with your posture).

 

It was after about a week, when the worst of the symptoms seemed to have passed, that it happened. You were mostly just left with a migraine, a sore throat, and a residual chest pain from the strain of coughing and vomiting, and still weren't allowed back into your restaurant; you felt low and pathetic. Ever attentive, Miso was with you, curled up against your side on the couch, rubbing your upper arm soothingly with every cough or sniffle from you. 

“I wish I could just hurry up and get better,” You whined, snuggling further down into the plush, fleece blanket. 

“I wish you'd hurry up and get better, too,” Miso responded sympathetically, pressing a light kiss to your temple. “Is there anything I can get you?”

You hummed in thought, pulling the blanket up to your chin. Beside you, Miso shifted, ready to go and fetch whatever you requested. After a moment, you answered. 

“Hmm…..Soup.”

“What?” Miso laughed lightly, leaning back to look at your half-covered face. 

“Hot soup always makes me feel better when I'm sick…” You explained, a slight wheeze to your voice. 

“Hey! I'm hot, aren't  _ I _ enough to make you feel better, then?” He teased, leaning closer to you with a smug grin — you had to fight the urge to cough both from embarrassment and your symptoms. 

“I'm being serious!”

“So am I!” But he still, reluctantly, disentangled his arms from around you and got up, about to retreat downstairs to the kitchen when you caught his sleeve, tugging it to make him pause.

 

“Miso...actually, I…uh...” You began, face flushing red, unable to look him in the eye as a result of the thought that crossed your mind. In the countless years you'd known her, Milk had told you time and time again that she  _ couldn't _ heal your injuries or cure your sickness; her powers didn't work on human the same way they did on food souls. You were sure the same could be said for Miso; if it wasn't, then surely he would have used his abilities to heal you by now. Still, you couldn't help but wonder if he would be able to soothe your throat in  _ other _ ways…

Miso hummed in confusion, tilting his head to the side while he glanced down at you; you, in turn, continued to avoid his gaze, fingers still coiled around the loose drop—fabric of his sleeve. 

“I…y’know what? Nevermind. It's fine.” Your hand dropped back into your lap. No longer bound by your touch, Miso stayed there nonetheless, brows furrowed. 

“Are you sure, darling? You can tell me, if you want to,” he said as he knelt down to look at you, taking both of your clammy hands in his. His voice filled with compassion, and you felt a flutter in your heart that — for once — was not a symptom of your illness.

 

It was now or never.

 

“It's just…I…You were right, about you being hot. And, uh…” You stared down at your joined hands, face growing more hot and voice growing quieter with each word you said. “I think—... I think I'm craving something  _ else _ now.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, and hard to understand due to the hoarseness of your throat, but, judging by how quickly a blush spread over Miso’s face, he had still heard you. The stuttering gasp he exhaled was quickly covered up by a nervous laugh, his hands squeezing yours as he tried to regain his composure. 

“Ah…do you want me to help take your mind off this? To make you feel better?” He asked slyly, not even bothering to keep the smirk off of his face. Your hands were still twined with his, so you resorted to attempting to bury your face in the blanket as you tentatively nodded. He chuckled again, this time sounding much lower. 

“Well, why don't you tell me what it is you have in mind?”

 

You swallowed thickly past the lump in your throat as you shifted on the couch, drawing your legs up under yourself and gesturing to the seat next to you with a subtle incline of your head. Miso took your lead, relinquishing his hold on your hands and sitting down, body angled towards you.

“Ah...um...l—lay down?” You suggested, and he nodded. He moved his legs so they were stretched out on either side of you.

“Is this okay?” Due to Miso’s height, and the fact that you were taking up half of the couch, he couldn’t lay down fully; instead, his mid—back leaned against the arm of the couch, supported by one of your decorative throw—pillows. You nodded fervently, turning so you were fully facing him, almost immediately going to work at unfastening his pants. Once you had that done, you wasted no time in tugging them down, one hand palming at him through his underwear. When you leaned down, hands planted at either side of his hips, and pressed feather—light kisses against his hardening cock through the fabric, you heard him gasp above you.

“A—ah...so this is what you were thinking of?” He asked nervously; you glanced up at him, your gaze  catching sight flushed face and meeting his hazy burgundy eyes. You cleared your throat.

“Yeah...Is that okay?” You asked, made wary by his reaction — something which turned out to be unfounded when his blush deepened and he hastily nodded, hands working to untie his robes but not take them off.

 

You returned your attention to your actions, supporting yourself on your elbows as you moved to tug down his underwear. When you did, his cock — already fully erect despite you barely touching him — sprung out, tapping against his lean stomach. You wrapped one hand around the base and leaned in, tongue licking a broad stripe up the underside of his shaft from base to head, tongue flicking over the tip. With a soft whine, Miso’s head knocked back, one hand moving to caress the side of your face.

This only served to spur you on, licking and kissing his shaft, allowing yourself to drool out saliva in order to provide some lubrication in addition to the precum that was beginning to bead at the tip and leak down the length of his dick. Your hands worked in tandem with your mouth, one stroking up and down his cock while the other held onto his hip to support yourself. Your head dipped lower, pressing open—mouthed kisses against his inner thighs while your hand continued to work away at him, his hips arching up to buck into your hand despite your other hand attempting to keep him still. Your tongue trailed upwards to the apex of his thighs, lavishing a few soft licks to his balls before taking one of them into your mouth and giving it a teasing suck that had Miso gasp out a strangled cry above you, hand threading into your hair. You pulled away, glancing up at him. In an effort to silence his moans, he had one hand pressed to his mouth, teeth digging into his knuckle with almost enough force to draw blood.

 

It felt almost deviant, to be doing something so explicit so brazenly; it was mid-afternoon, you were in one of the communal areas of your abode, and the restaurant was catering to the late-lunch rush just below you — if you strained your ears to listen beyond Miso’s muffled groans, you could almost hear the clink of silverware and crockery and the idle chatter of patrons. The thought that you could be caught at any moment stoked a fire within you, and you continued your impassioned task with vigour, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of his cock before starting to take him inch-by-inch into your mouth. Your mouth was filled with the salty taste of his precum, something which — in a somewhat interesting development — you realised tasted distinctly like soybean paste, rather than the usual tangy flavour of masculine essence.

When you felt the tip of his dick bump against the top of your throat, you paused, trying to refrain from gagging. Miso’s hand slackened its grip on your hair, wordlessly communicating to you that it was okay to take your time. In an effort to not lose the momentum you were building while your throat adjusted, you moved one hand to cup and massage him, feeling your own arousal building. When you glanced up to look at his face, you could see his eyes were clenched shut, face dusted with a heavy blush; beads of sweat trailed down the side of his face as he bit back a moan, panting out breaths against the back of his hand which was still pressed to his mouth.

 

Pressing one hand flat against the plane of his hip, you inhaled a breath through your nose as you pushed him deeper, his cockhead penetrating your throat. You could feel yourself constricting around him and tried to fight through it, your arm bracing against his pelvis...At this point, you almost  _ wanted  _ him to buck into your mouth, having you take him in all the way to the base while you did little more than try and relax your throat. Still, this was Miso; for all his bolster and flirting, even when  _ this  _ far gone with pleasure, he still considered your needs, not giving you more than you could handle...And even if you couldn’t take his entire length yet — maybe it was just because you were sick? You’d have to do this again as soon as you recovered...just to check if your performance had improved, of course! — he didn’t seem too disappointed, his face contorted with pleasure, fist clenched and knuckles turning white between his teeth.

The hand that was pressing his hips down moved to wrap around the base of his cock as you pulled back halfway before once again enveloping as much of him as you could in your mouth, velvety tongue smoothing and swiping over throbbing veins as you began to bob your head. You went slowly at first, then began to increase the pace, varying the sensations with the movement of your tongue and hand. Saliva flowed freely from your mouth, dripping down his shaft and onto your hand, and pooling on his stomach as you continued to pleasure him.

From the stuttering thrusts of his hips that he tried to suppress, you could tell he was close. Chancing a glance up at his face, you took in the breathtaking sight of him — handsome features corrupted by total carnal ecstasy; brows drawn together, eyes clenched shut, mouth open and gasping out your name...When his eyes fluttered open and flicked down to you, your gaze met his glassy-eyed stare and a jolt of electricity shot along your spine, forcing you to grind your thighs together in a pathetic attempt to relieve some of the tension. The same could easily be said of Miso; the sight of you — face rufescent and coated with a thin sheen of sweat, eyes watering as you drooled over his cock — was enough to send him over the edge almost without warning. No longer able to restrain himself, he bucked up into your mouth, fingers tightening in your hair as he came with a strangled, staccato moan of your name, his release hitting the back of your throat in three thick ropes of cum, each punctuated by a thrust that left his body quaking.

 

Once his body stilled, you withdrew from his softening length, hand reflexively wiping at your mouth.

“I...was that…? Do you feel better now?” Miso managed to ask, chest heaving from laboured breaths. Despite his burgeoning fatigue, he was aware of your location and immediately began to redress himself, moving back against the arm of the couch so he was sitting upright. You nodded, adjusting your blanket.

“Much. It’s like I said— hot soup  _ always  _ makes me feel better when I'm sick. Plus, I really do think that helped my sore throat...Or, at the very least, took my mind off of it by making it sore for another reason.” You grinned, and Miso responded in turn with a chuckle, before pulling you in for an eager, rapacious kiss. You felt his hand drifting below the folds of your blanket, sliding up the feverishly hot skin of your thighs, stopping to toy with the hem of your shorts as you pulled away, fixing him with a confused look.

“What?” He asked with a smug grin, and you just blinked vacantly in response. “I am here to take care of you, after all! Now, lay back and relax— doctor’s orders.”

**Author's Note:**

> :o)  
> Hope you enjoyed! Catch me on tumblr @ souphusband.tumblr.com


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